Her Butler: Hawk & Skeever
by Navaara6
Summary: "Believe that for once, the Daughter of a powerful Daedric Lord can fall in love with a Dremora." "Do not tempt me, my Lady..." This is the story of the other daughter of Molag Bal falling in love with her Dremora butler, much to her father's fury.
1. Chapter 1 - The Legend Begins

Chapter 1 – The Legend Begins

The sky was an even shade of dark blue, shimmering with the silver of a night sky. Torchbugs lit the darkness in a glow of bright yellow-green light. Crickets screeched softly in the spring air, giving a somewhat comfort to the lowly town of Riverwood. Old Anise followed the narrow dirt path to the small village from her hut in the woods. Her pale blue hooded robes flapped in the slight breeze as she crossed the icy waters of the White River. Her metallic grey eyes lifted when she reached the entrance to Riverwood. The town was humming with life as they celebrated a harvest festival. Makeshift wooden stalls lined the streets, selling baked pastries, sweets and beverages.

As she neared the Sleeping Giant Inn, a small crowd of villagers gathered around her, excitingly shouting greetings with tankards filled with sweet, warm mead to chase the chilly breeze from their bodies.

"Anise!" Hod opened his arms, welcoming her to Riverwood. "Are you here to tell your tales of dragons and warriors?"

"Something of the sort, dear," Anise replied, shifting slowly through the mass of people. "If you would like to hear a story, I will be in the warmth of the inn."

Soft murmuring added to the festive atmosphere as the old woman made her way to her destination. Pushing open the worn, wooden door to the inn, Anise shuffled to a chair seated by the roaring fire in the centre of the room. She muttered a greeting to the innkeeper, Orgnar as she relaxed her aching bones. Sighing with relief she watched the fire crackling, orange flames licking at the empty air. Anise raised her hand to rest her head on it and she caught the fire moving in sync with her. Inwardly smiling to herself, she welcomed the warmth in the stead of the cold, lonely nights in her cabin on the edge of the woods.

As she drew back her hood, revealing her dark silver hair, which was roughly tied back into a ponytail, the door creaked open. Some of the villagers walked inside, scanning the inn for Anise. They strode over to her and stood before her, wide grins on their faces.

"Anise!" Embry stumbled to the aging woman, a full tankard of mead in his hand. "Tell us a story! Tell us about the Dragonborn or…hic…something like that."

"Embry!" Orgnar called sternly in a deep, threatening voice. "If you're going to disrupt my customers, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"Hush, my dear," Anise waved off the bartender, "leave the poor man alone. He just wants to hear old Anise tell a story."

"If she's going to be telling stories," Alvor the blacksmith gripped the drunkard by the shoulder firmly, "you've got to be quiet this time."

"Alright, alright, you won't hear me at all!" Embry raised his fingers to his lips. "I'll be as quiet as a Skeever."

Anise's grey eyes rose suddenly. "Skeever, eh?" A small smile appeared on her mouth and a reminiscing expression crossed her face. She shifted in her seat so she was sitting on the edge, old elbows resting on her knees. "There is an old tale about a Skeever."

"You're going to tell a story about a Skeever?" the blacksmith's wife, Sigrid, asked, surprise and somewhat disgust faded onto her face.

"And a Hawk." Anise replied. "It is a tale of fear, adventure, lust, romance and tragedy." She studied the anticipation on the villagers' faces. The aura in the room was changing. Curiosity wisped through the tavern air. "But this tale is not like the others I have told. I must warn you. Whatever is told in this room _must_ stay in this room. You do not want this story to reach unwanted ears."

"What is the problem?" asked Gerdur the miller's wife, running a hand through her dull blonde hair. "Why do we have to be so secretive of this story?"

"Because," Anise's expression was firm, "this story is about Daedric Princes."

A hush fell over the villagers. They were unsure of how to continue. They were curious, however as they exchanged worried looks with each other, they knew how dangerous just talking about the Daedric Princes can be.

"Go on, old lady!" Embry raised his glass to his lips. "I ain't afraid of these myths about Daedra and such." He drank deeply from his tankard, muttering, "Unlike these milk-drinkers."

"We ain't milk-drinkers!" Hod, the miller boomed. "We are _Nords_! We ain't afraid of children's tales."

"Yes," Anise hardened her gaze, "children's tales." Leaning back in her chair she rested her aching back.

"Go on, Anise," Gerder said, shifting her weight to her left leg, "tell us what Daedra have to do with Hawks and Skeevers."

Anise's shiny grey eyes rested on the blonde Nord woman. "Well, the legend begins in the Oblivion Plain of _Coldharbour_ , home to the Daedric Lord, Molag Bal…"


	2. Chapter 2 - The Birth

Chapter 2 – The Birth

The great Daedric Prince of domination and enslavement, Molag Bal sat upon his throne made of the skulls and bones of those who had defied him. Resting his bull horned, Argonian-like head on his large, grey scaled hand he exhaled, bored. Bored with watching his enslaved souls moving aimlessly in his slave compounds. Bored with extinguishing the flames of souls for his own dull entertainment. Lifting his other hand, stretching his arm out in front of him, he pinched his clawed index finder against his thumb, extinguishing yet another slave soul. He groaned in annoyance and let his arm fall limply onto his lap.

He stood, walking down the skeletal pile surrounding his throne. A Dremora—a gift from the Daedric Prince of Debauchery—stood ready to receive orders near the doorway to the room.

"My Lord, do you require me for any—" the Dremora started but was stopped by Molag's hand raising.

"I am bored, Dremora." He said in a bass, booming voice. "You know what happens when I am bored."

The Dremora pressed his lips together and stood tall, obediently letting him past. He did in fact know what happened when his Lord was jaded.

Molag Bal lifted his hand and summoned black and purple magic opening a rift in thin air—a portal to the mortal world of Tamriel, Nirn.

-oOo-

The wind blew less than violently through the tall trees, whistling through their branches and rustling their leaves. A priestess of Arkay, Lamae Beolfag, wondered through the forest, collecting ingredients that only appeared at night. She knelt down and caught a Luna Moth that was fluttering lazily around a blue mountain flower. Carefully coaxing the tiny insect into a jar, she stood up and continued her search. Listening to the rich sounds of the woods, she hummed softly, a small herd of deer raising their heads as she lightly danced past. The faint trickle of a creek rang out quietly through the air and the sweet, deceiving smell of Dragon's Tooth flowers reached Lamae's nostrils.

She followed the sound of the creek until she found the slow waving waters. Crouching, she filled a deer hide water skin with the icy liquid. She would use the water as a base for the potions Arkay required for his rituals and followers. Corking the top, she rose to her feet and turned back the way she'd come, on her way to return to the temple. As she walked away from the creek, she stopped and checked her pack, suspicious of it light weight. Frowning, she rummaged through it, searching for the jar containing the Luna Moth. Lamae skipped hurriedly back to the water's edge, cursing to herself for losing this special ingredient. She did not have another jar to contain another Moth in and the high priest of the Arkay temple required it tonight to be able to complete a burial ritual.

Irritated at herself for easily losing something so valuable, she sighed and had no choice but to return to the temple empty handed, only she was stopped by an unusual sound. Standing as still as the statues engraved in the temple, Lamae scanned the forest. The noise sounded like a Sabre Cat's low growl mixed with the hum of a giant—which was strange because neither were in the area. The Nedic woman was suddenly became very aware of her surroundings. The buzz of insects had ceased and there was no rustle in the bushes that signalled deer. Even the wind that was blowing was deathly still. It was as if every living thing in the area had simultaneously disappeared. Lamae's heartrate began to quicken. Her pulse pounded against her neck and her lungs heaved in her chest.

"All alone?"

Lamae shrieked, fearfully and spun around to face where the voice had come from. But there was no one behind her. Hairs sprung up on the back of her neck and she whirled back around, _screaming_ at the sight before her. Leaning, casually against a thick trunked tree was what looked like something out of the darkest depths of Oblivion. It was tall—taller than a giant and had dark grey scaley skin. Her eyes rose to the beast's face. It was Argonian-like with large pointed teeth jutting out of its jaw. Two large horns horizontally poked out of the side of its head with spikes poking out of the side of its neck.

"Why is this little rabbit all alone?" it spoke, revealing more needle like teeth and a forked tongue. Its bass voice confirmed some sort of male beast.

Lamae was terrified. Her body shook violently, her eyes wide, her breathing heavy. Warm liquid puddled from her in between her legs to her feet.

"Do you know who I am, little rabbit?" the demonic being asked.

Lamae was unable to answer. Tears ran like rivers from her eyes, down her cheeks and her neck. The monster pulled a hand from behind his back, revealing the missing jar with the Luna Moth. He threw the jar up and caught it a few times before lifting it to his bright red eyes.

"I am the Daedric Prince of domination and _enslavement_." He paused gazing at the trapped Moth. "Molag Bal. I like what you have done with this little insect." He continued to throw the jaw up, long, black talons scraping against the glass every time he caught it again. "I like the way you imprisoned something lower than yourself." He suddenly let the jar crash to the forest floor, easily shattering it and letting the Moth flutter dizzily out. "But this is what happens when you do not have a secure prison. They break. Letting the prisoner fly free." He watched the Moth flutter up towards the tree canopy, before snatching it back between his large, thick fingers. Holding each wing, he slowly tore it apart. Though the Moth made no sound, Lamae could see the insect writhe in pain before floating lightly to the ground. "Do you see how easy it is to kill something beneath you?" He stepped forward, crushing the remains of the Luna Moth underneath his gigantic foot. "For a Daedric Prince, _everything_ is beneath you."

Lamae screamed, a high pitch screech that rang out throughout the silent forest, echoing far. She turned on her heel and bolted away from the Daedra. She leapt across the creek, dropping her pack and water skin. She didn't care where she was going as long as it was away from him. She screamed for help, though somewhere deep inside her, she knew no one would hear her. She felt her legs pumping hard, lungs heaving, aching in her chest, adrenaline and fear drove her forward, but suddenly…her feet caught on a large root of a tree and she smacked hard to the ground, bloodying her nose. Dazed, she attempted to get to her feet, but she felt she couldn't. She felt something on her back, holding her to the ground. She struggled to push herself up, but it was no use. It was as if the tree she tripped on had fallen onto her…

"Where are you running to, little rabbit?" Her eyelids stretched open in fear. Molag Bal was lying on top of her. She tried to scream, but her head was roughly shoved to the floor, dirt and dried leaves filling her mouth. Molag Bal's large, taloned hand griped the back of her head, while the other held her left wrist down, holding her in place. "Ah-ah, little rabbit. You shouldn't squeal. It is hard on the ears." His hot breath rolled down her neck and she sobbed quietly. He suddenly inhaled deeply. "Mm, you'll do just fine."

He shifted his weight so that his left hand was holding her head down while his elbow kept her hand in place. Moving his right hand he gripped the dull grey-blue dress she was wearing and ripped it off, shredding it to pieces. He lowered his head and inhaled once again, this time crushing her shoulder between his jaws. She screamed in pain, but was muffled as Molag forced her head further into the ground.

"What did I just say, little rabbit?" The Daedra hissed. "Now, be a good girl."

"Arkay, show me mercy and let me feel no pain—"

"You will _not_ speak that vile name, mortal!" Molag Bal seethed. "Now be a good girl a _be quiet_."

Lamae continued to sob as the Daedric Prince tore away her small clothes. He tightened his grip on her head as he rubbed his enormous member against her behind. She shook in fear and coldness. The air was as cold as ice, no wind, just extremely cold. Goosebumps rose on her skin as Molag Bal gripped both her shoulders, talons imbedding themselves deep into her skin. She clenched her jaw hard so she would not scream, though it was _hard_.

Shoving her to the ground, Molag thrust forward, hardly fitting inside her. Just the tip was able to fit as her mortal body was much too small. He growled savagely as she screamed in sheer pain. He tightened his grip on her shoulders, the tips of his fingers reaching the wounds he tore. He forced himself deeper into her; finally ignoring her cries as he literally brutally tore her apart, splitting her virgin body in two. Lamae never felt so much pain before. Molag was so big, that when he reached her end, he was only one third of his shaft was inside her. She was spread so wide, she looked like she was giving birth. Lamae continued to scream in pain and terror, as Molag Bal savagely raped her.

A shift in the air changed when the Daedra was satisfied with his work. He had done similar acts before, however, when he pulled away from Lamae's limp body, he took one of his talons and pricked his own finger, letting a single drop of blood to fall onto her brow.

"Die, now alone, little rabbit." He purred and summoned a portal back to Coldharbour.

Lamae lay there on her back on the spring forest floor. Shallow breaths escaped from her mouth as clung with what energy she had left to life. Blood poured heavily from where the Daedric Prince had ravaged her. Deep cuts and holes from his talons decorated her body from head to toe. The pain from the attack was fading away as she faded away from life. The blood droplet on her brow that he left behind ran down the side of her head, leisurely, leaving behind a vibrant red line. As her vision blurred, she felt her brow heat up, an orange light suddenly lit up the night sky. Despite her position, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

The swirls of light swishing playfully between the stars, lighting the beautiful, cool green leaves of the trees. It was like fire spirits dancing together. She forgot everything then. She was filled with bliss. Warmth. Mercy…

Her mouth opened.

"Arkay…"

-oOo-

Lamae Beolfag opened her eyes. She was lying on a stone alter, wearing a pure white dress, with a white corset tied with red ribbon. Her hair was held back with a purple mountain flower. However, the first thing she noticed was that she was surrounded by orange light. And like a flash of lightning, the memories of _that_ night flooded her mind. The Daedric Prince…the…the…brutal _attack_ …she had prayed to Arkay. She had _prayed_ for him to help her. To save her. But he didn't. He _didn't_. Lamae felt the heat of pure anger rise from the pit of her stomach. Sitting up, the orange light whipped around her and licked at her skin and it was then that she realised the orange light was fire. She could feel the warmth however it didn't burn her, though it was singing her clothes, revealing some of the scars as evidence from the ordeal she endured.

Lamae swung her legs over the edge of the alter and stood, walking gracefully through the fire. Gasps and murmurs wafted into her ears. Lifting her eyes, she watched a group of people staring at her in fear. She glanced at her surroundings. She was outside; the dusk sky looked like the glow of a wildfire, with the setting sun as the spark. She also noticed that she was in a small village—wooden buildings dotted around a small area, casting long shadows across the village's centre where the burning alter was situated.

"She…she's alive?" one villager asked another.

"Is this a miracle, or something more like witchcraft?" A second villager whispered.

"But that is impossible. She was pronounced dead by the village healer!"

"Once more, they _removed_ her heart!"

Lamae slowly lowered her head and rested her gaze on her chest. Sure enough, there was a long scar across the place where her heart was. Lifting a hand she pressed against her left breast. There was no heartbeat. She slid her fingers up to underneath her jaw. No pulse. Not even a faint throb. How could she be alive but not _be_ alive?

"Arkay…" she hissed from behind her teeth. "Molag Bal…" she clenched her jaw and her fist. "Curse you…curse both of you!" Her voice became a screech. " _You did this to me_! _You killed me_! _Arkay! Bal! I will have my vengeance_!"

Her fierce glare laid upon the villagers then, a sudden terrible thirst resonating within her. Her mouth salivated as her stare was set upon their necks. She could _hear_ the blood pumping past their pulses. She bared her teeth and they all screamed, their focus on her mouth. Ignoring their fear she lunged forward, with new speed; landing on one of the village women. She sank her teeth into her neck and sucked the blood dry. Raising her head to her next victim she continued her attack. From one villager to another. She killed all the women first. Then she killed and violated the men worse than she herself had been violated. And then, finally, she turned her attention to the children. She rounded all of them up and made them stand naked before her.

" _Are you watching, Arkay?_ " She screamed. " _Divine of Mercy! Are you watching?!_ "

She gripped a little girl by the neck and raised her hands to her young face. She saw that she had talons now of her own, though she never thought to thank Molag Bal for this abomination-like look. Aiming her taloned index and middle fingers with the girl's eyes, she stabbed forward and ripped them out of her head. The girl squealed deafeningly, writhing in misery and dread, however her assailant showed no compassion. She let the girl drop at her feet, let her die slowly before glowering at the other children who were huddled together in terror after witnessing the horror that just transpired before them. She continued to torture the other children horribly before leaving the village to burn to ashes from the flames of her own funeral fires.

-oOo-

It was eight and a half months after this ordeal that Lamae Beolfag lay in a bed in a temple of Kynareth, posing as a widowed, poor farm woman giving birth to a babe. The healers did their best to keep Lamae as pain free as possible, summoning the golden, warm light of healing spells to her womb. Inwardly, she cursed Molag Bal for giving her this burden, as the muscles around her stomach twisted and contorted horribly, her legs were spread wide apart, readying for what was about to happen.

Sweat slid down the side of her head and neck, wetting her hair. She screamed in pain and leaned forward, gripping the sheets of the maternity bed hard.

"Get it _out of_ me!" She shrieked.

"Sit back, Miss," one of the midwives soothed, stroking her wet hair back, "you're doing fine!"

"I want it out! I want it out! I _want it out_!"

"One last push!" another midwife called.

Lamae finally relaxed as the mass finally left her body. There was a sudden shift in the aura—tension.

"Something seems wrong." A midwife murmured to the other. "The baby is not crying."

The second midwife cut umbilical cord and carried the baby to a surface where she studied the baby. "It's a girl…" she muttered, though she didn't seem too concerned with the gender. "She seems…fine. Heartbeat…fine. Breathing…normal. Eyes—" the midwife shrieked and drew her hands away from the infant.

"What?" the first midwife asked, hurriedly. "What's wrong?"

"Th-the eyes…" the second whispered.

The first walked over and gasped, lifting her hands to her mouth. "They're _orange_!"

"They're _glowing_ orange." The first midwife breathed out. "What…what do we…?"

"That's my daughter." The midwives turned slowly to see Lamae standing, holding the severed heads of the two healers that were in the room with her. "These healers were _not_ helping. You see…" she blinked slowly and when her eyes opened, she revealed her own glowing orange eyes. "Healing spells don't work on vampires."

Dropping the heads into a bloody pile on the ground, she lunged forward, sinking her long canine teeth into the neck of the first midwife; warm, tangy blood filling her mouth. Lamae drank deeply, her victim paling from the loss of sudden loss of blood. Letting her limp body heap on the floor, she turned to the her next meal, who screamed and attempted to run, but was caught as the vampiric woman leapt onto her back, biting her neck from behind, and drinking the plasma from her veins.

Wiping the blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth, she turned to the small baby who was lying on the surface of a short table. She had large, orange eyes and pale, snow white skin. Lamae focused on her tiny head and saw that there were five evenly space knobs on her crown. She knew horns would spurt there, so she carefully wrapped her babe in thick cloth and decided to her away from civilisation. As much as she hated half the blood that ran through her veins, Lamae could not completely despise her own daughter.

Opening the door to the new winter air, she shuffled through the thin snow and headed for the dead looking forest, cradling her child close to her chest. The wind was icy and unforgiving as it howled like a hungry pack of wolves, though the vampire mother did not feel the cold. Her hair and clothes flapped wildly, however, whipping around her face and skin. She stopped at the edge of the darkness of the forest, suddenly aware she was being watched.

"You will not take her." Lamae said to the figure standing behind her.

"My Lord requires me retrieve his daughter." Lamae snapped her head to look behind her to see a Dremora standing deathly still, black armour resonating with bright red light, illuminating his obsidian face. "I will gladly use force should the need arise."

"Leave me, demon." Lamae hissed, clutching her daughter more tightly. "I will not let that foul being you call your _Lord_ to get his defiled hands on _my_ daughter."

The Dremora's face remained expressionless, as he drew his Daedric greatsword. The dark silver and black blade shone in the frozen stare of the moon, the bright red light on the hilt irradiated the entire weapon in an eerie demonic glare. Before Lamae could react, the Dremora shifted forward with amazing speed, slicing off her head with ease. All she had endured, as that is what she had to show for it. Her head rolled into the snow, spraying the pure white snow with tainted red blood. The rest of her body, still clutching the child stood for a few seconds longer—as if it was a last desperate act of resistance against the Daedric Lord she despised so much—before crumbling to the icy ground.

The Dremora sheathed his bloodied weapon and cautiously approached the body. He expected the baby who was wrapped in layers of cloth to be screaming and crying for the death of her mother, but instead she just looked at the demonic looking being with bright orange eyes and smiled. This caused his brow to twitch slightly with confusion, though as gently as he could, he lifted the bundle into his arms and walked though his created portal back to her father in Coldharbour.


	3. Chapter 3 - Aging

Chapter 3 – Aging

The great Prince lounged on his throne, in a massive rock, stone and obsidian castle, and lifted his horned head up when his presence was disturbed when the Dremora walked in, holding a tightly wrapped up bundle of cloth containing the tiny baby. Molag Bal rose and shifted effortlessly to his servant's side.

"Another daughter?" Molag scowled as his child gazed up at him with bright orange eyes.

"Does this displease my Lord?" The Dremora asked. "If my Lord wishes, I shall dispose of—"

"Just make sure she doesn't turn out like my last daughter." The Prince growled at the thought of his previous daughter, Molag Grunda. "Make sure she does not fall in love with such a lowly being."

He turned to leave the throne room. The Dremora glanced with distaste at the child before raising his ebony face back to his master.

"My Lord," he called. Molag stopped and cast a glare over his shoulder, waiting for him to continue. "What do you wish to do with this child?"

"You are in charge of her." He replied, continuing on his way, heavy footsteps pounding into the rock floor.

"But, my Lord…" he didn't get to finish before his master left the room without a backward glance.

The Dremora stood there alone in the giant, empty room. White flames dimly lit his face and the child he was carrying. He lowered his black-eyed gaze to her. She was so innocent and vulnerable, staring up at him with those big orange orbs, completely unafraid of the demon that loomed above her. Her pale skin seemed ghost white in the light of the flames, a few strands of new hair, as black as dark as the pits of the abyss, softly covered her small head. Every feature of this child was perfectly contrasted with each other. The corners of the baby's mouth twitched upwards into a blissful smile.

The Dremora scowled; annoyed that he had been lowered to looking after an annoying little brat for eternity. She was so small and defenceless; he could easily kill her now with little to no effort. He raised a hidden Daedric dagger from his hip to her neck. He watched the red glow off the deep grey blade pour onto her silk coloured face. He expected her to begin to cry, but she turned her gaze down to the dagger and lightly placed her hand on the edge of the blade, and giggled softly.

Unsure of how to continue, the Dremora drew his weapon away, sheathing it.

"I despise you." He grumbled as the baby laughed.

Later that day, the Dremora constructed a crib out of bone and cloth for the child by the order of his master. Placing the baby into it he stepped back, slightly proud of his handiwork.

"Are you done yet, Dremora?" Molag Bal crashed into the room, impatience crossed his reptilian face.

"Yes, my Lord." The Dremora respectfully stepped back to let the Prince inspect the crib, slightly confused at why he cared. "Is it to my Lord's favour?"

Molag Bal didn't answer straight away. He stared at the small child's bed for a few seconds more, before a look of satisfaction put the demon at ease.

"It's fine." He muttered, stepping closer to look at the babe.

"What would my Lord like the name the child?" the Dremora glanced at the Daedra, wondering if he will even answer the question or just give him that burden too. However to his surprise Molag Bal answered, quietly:

"Athenasia."

"My Lord?"

"Name her Athenasia." He repeated before briskly exiting the large room which would now be the child's quarters.

The Dremora gazed after his master and stared at the empty doorway a few moments after he had left. He had never seen the Prince show _any_ type of affection for anything and for him to show the sudden slight care was completely out of character.

Blinking slowly, the Dremora turned and shifted next to the crib and leaned on the bars, staring down at the baby.

"So, then. Your name shall be Athenasia."

-oOo-

Athenasia, now five years of age, burst through the doors of her butler's room which was situated next to hers.

"Dremora!" she giggled. "Get up! Let's play!"

The Dremora stirred in his sleep and opened his deep black eyes, annoyed at the loudness of the dark, Coldharbour morning. He turned his head to glare at little Athenasia who just smirked back. She had grown fast, and now had five, dark purple, pointed horns that sprouted evenly across the crown of her head like a widespread hand. Her long pitch black hair matched his eyes and was messily sprayed past her shoulders. Her large, almond shaped eyes were bright with the orange of the mortal sun which contrasted vibrantly against her cloud white skin. To match her eyes, glowing orange and black bat like wings had developed from her back, though she could not fly yet.

"It is still too early, girl." He mumbled, wiping a hand over his tired eyes. "Hurry back to sleep."

"But look!" she stood back and twirled. "I dressed myself today!"

The Dremora lazily opened one eye to observe the little girl beaming widely, clearly impressed with herself. She was dressed in a dark purple ankle length dress with short puffed sleeves, black adorning the tips of the sleeves, the hem of the dress and the collar and around the waist. She looked fine, except for the fact that she put the dress on backwards.

"You silly girl…" he sighed, getting out of his furred bed and lifting the girl by the back of her dress—or front—and turned her around. "You've put this robe on back to front."

"Huh?" She struggled in his grip and twisted around to see her mistake. "Oh…" she looked down, despondently. "I was sure I got it right this time…"

The Dremora rolled his eyes, and quickly pulled Athenasia's arm through the sleeves and switched the dress the right way.

"You're insufferable, you know." He mumbled, pushing her gently towards the doorway. "Away with you."

"What does _insuffernable_ mean?" she asked, turning her head back as she was ushered out.

"I will tell you when you are older." He replied.

"But, Dremora, I want to play!" she turned and grabbed his hand, tugging it.

"Not now, girl." He snatched his hand away, irritated.

"But…" she cast her glowing orange gaze to the rock floor, sadly whining.

Sighing, audibly he knelt down on one knee and rested a hand on her tiny shoulder. "Fine. What do you want to play?"

"Find the hider!" she cried, giggling.

"Fine then, girl. Go hide." He watched her run out of the room, laughing uncontrollably.

The Dremora sighed and clipped on his black and red Daedric armour. He strolled out of the room, in no rush to find the little girl, as he could smell exactly where she had gone to. As he leisurely walked through the great halls of Coldharbour Castle, he admired the black and grey towering walls, decorated with braziers alight with bright, white flames which illuminated the darkness.

The Dremora suddenly halted. He flared his nose and raised his head into the air much like a wolf catching scent of its prey. He smelt Athenasia, though she was heading for…

"Not there…" he whispered to himself and rushed with his demon speed to the throne room.

He rounded the corner to the entrance of the room, and caught Athenasia by the shoulders, gripping them tightly, afraid he was too late.

"Girl!" he hissed quietly. "You mustn't disturb…"

"My sweet, precious daughter," Molag Bal sat upon his throne, staring down at the small girl and the heaving, nervous Dremora. He lifted his large, taloned hand and gestured to his child. "Come here." Athenasia glanced up uncertainly at her butler who uneasily nodded for her to obey. She wondered over to her father who lifted her onto his knee. "What are you doing, Athenasia?" he asked her, stroking her long ebony hair.

"Me and Dremora are playing." She said, playing with her hands.

"What are you playing?" He questioned, shifting his icy eyes to the Dremora standing in the doorway, anxiously.

"Find the hider." She looked up innocently at her father, a small smile appearing on her face.

"And you were hiding from the Dremora?"

"Uh-huh."

He wrapped his dangerous looking hand around her shoulder. "You know that it is almost impossible to hide from a Dremora. They have an exceptional sense of smell. He could smell you easily."

Athenasia looked at the guilty Dremora, who was avoiding her gaze.

"That's cheating!" she cried.

Molag Bal brought his face close to hers. "Shall we punish him?" he whispered into her ear.

She stared at her butler who stared right back at her, trying to tell her to say yes with his eyes, for he knew that to go against his master's will was most unwise. The daughter of the Daedra shook her head slowly, however and he looked to the floor.

Though, to his surprise, Molag just chuckled, a deep rumble from within his wide chest.

"As you wish, dear child." He lifted her off his knee and guided her to go back to the Dremora. "Run along, then." Her butler placed his hands around her shoulders. He bowed and turned to leave, but his master called out to him. "Oh, Dremora,"

He turned to look at Molag. "Yes, my Lord?"

"It's my Lady _not_ 'Girl'." He hissed and raised his hand, sending a lightning spell to zigzag through his fingers.

The Dremora clenched his jaw and cried out though closed teeth and endured his punishment. He fell to one knee, ignoring Athenasia's gasp of surprise. He breathed heavily, clutching his chest, feeling his heart beating irregularly from the shock.

"Y-yes, my Lord." He panted and unsteadily rose to his feet and took Athenasia by the shoulders again. "Come, then…my Lady." And he guided her out of the room, leaving her father to cackle evilly at the misfortune of his butler.

They walked in silence back to her quarters where he sat her on her bed crafted from quartz and volcanic rock laid with soft crow's feathers and black bear furs. He sat next to her and began to braid one side of her hair in a single, thick braid.

"Are you hurting?" Athenasia asked.

"No, g…my Lady." He lied, still feeling the great stinging effects of his punishment.

"But you look hurting." She pressed, staring up at him.

"I'm not hurting, my Lady."

"But you look so sad." She pushed out her bottom lip and pouted. "Why are you so sad?"

"I'm not sad, my Lady."

"I don't like it." She folded her arms and huffed.

"Don't like what, my Lady?"

"I don't like 'my Lady'."

"My Lord, Molag Bal wishes me to call you my Lady." He replied obediently, feeling like he had hit a new low.

"Well I don't like it." She shifted closer to him and hugged him from the side, placing her head down on his chest plate. "I want you to call me by my name. Call me Athenasia."

"As my Lady wishes."

"Hey, Dremora?"

"Yes my…urm, Athenasia."

"Do _Dremorases_ have names?" She lifted her head to look up at the butler. He gazed down at her, amazed at how gentle and innocent a Daedra can look.

"Yes, we do." He answered.

"So what is your name?"

This surprised him. No one had ever wanted to know his name. Not his previous master, Sanguine, nor his present master. No one cared. No one cared to know who that Dremora was. He had always believed that was just how his life was going to be. An unimportant demon serving whoever summoned him or whoever ruled over him.

"It would be wise to just call me Dremora." He replied. "You father…"

"Then it will be our secret." Athenasia smiled sweetly at him and shock struck him like his punishment. _Why did she care?_

He didn't answer right away, hesitating to tell a five year old a secret.

"…Vulcan." He finally said, softly.

"Vulcan…" she repeated.

"It means—"

"Fire." She finished.

"Indeed." He was surprised that _she_ knew that, but he chose not to ask. He knew that the Daedra were mysterious in their own ways.

-oOo-

Eight years later and Athenasia was now thirteen and her beauty was blossoming. Her soft features were deceiving to her newly mischievous personality. She now enjoyed travelling to Nirn to create small misfortunes for mortals. Of course, Vulcan came with her to make sure she didn't get caught or to drag her back to Coldharbour if she was. Her small wings grew larger and she finally learnt to fly—with the help of her butler.

The two of them were walking through a forest in Cyrodiil. Athenasia slightly smiled at the beauty of the trees against the night sky and marvelled at the darkness. The air was cool, but not cold and a breeze caused a few strands of her pupil black hair to tickle her pale cheeks.

Vulcan walked slightly behind her, always alert for any dangers, though he did not doubt Athenasia's growing powers.

"My Lady," he spoke up, breaking the calm silence. "We should get back to Coldharbour. I fear your father may be…wondering where you are."

"But Tamriel is so interesting!" she complained. "We don't have trees like this in Coldharbour. Or night skies like this. Ours is always clouded by dark mist. It's either here or going to Aunty Nocturnal's realm. Even Uncle Sheogortath's realm is prettier than ours."

"That would be unwise to say to your father." Vulcan advised, though a grin appeared on his ebony face.

"Why can't I have my own realm?" she sighed. "I would have a night sky permanently. And the trees would glow." They stopped at a long body of water. "I would have rivers and streams everywhere with golden paths. _And_ I would have a golden palace just for me…and I want you to be there."

"Unfortunately, my Lady," he watched her kneel down and stroke the cold water with her fingertips, "I was a gift to your father from my previous master…"

"Uncle Sanguine, I know, you've told me before." She rolled her eyes and stood up, wiping her hand dry on her deep purple and navy blue dress. "I'm sure if I ask nicely I can have you."

"I'm not sure." He admitted, though he knew that life would be much better if he were to serve Athenasia instead of Molag Bal. "However you are only half Daedra."

"Yes, but my mother _was_ a vampire." She retorted.

"That doesn't make you a full Prince."

"Hmph." Athenasia pouted and turned away.

"Stop sulking." Vulcan flicked her back of her head and she turned and glared at him, poking out her tongue at him. "However vampire you may be, you are a Daedra. So perhaps you should act like one more often."

"Like Papa?" she asked quietly. "I don't want to be so ruthless. I like playing tricks on mortals, but not torturing them or even enslaving them. But…" She raised her gaze to her butler and he saw a glint of her father in those orange gems. "…I don't mind giving karma to those who deserve it."

"Now you sound more like my Lord." Vulcan said with a grin. "You don't have to be wholly evil. Like your Aunt Meridia or Azura. However that may not agree with your father."

"He can't make me be evil." She said, walking alongside the river, balancing on the bank.

"My Lord wants what he wants. And _always_ gets what he wants. You know that." He answered, slowly following her.

She sighed and was about to retort, when she heard rustling amongst a few shrubs that were growing against a tall tree.

"My Lady, let me take you back." Vulcan said, gripping her arm.

"Not yet!" a mischievous grin grew on her slightly purple lips. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to another tree. With one mighty flap of her wings she grasped a tall branch and looked down, Vulcan climbing after her.

"You are too much trouble." He grumbled.

Out of the shrubs, two people came out of the shrubs, giggling and laughing. One was a Nord man with short brown hair and a close cut dark beard. He gripped the hand of an Altmer woman with her golden hair cascading in curls around her shoulders. They stopped at the river and pressed their lips together, her hands snaking around his neck and his around her waist. Athenasia looked on, a lump forming in her throat. _Were Daedra even allowed to fall in love?_

"I didn't know Nords and elves even liked each other." She snapped, suddenly in a bad mood.

"This is forbidden love, I suppose." Vulcan replied. "Come, we should head back."

Athenasia didn't move, however. She kept her bright orange eyes on the two lovers. "Are Daedric Princes allowed to fall in love?" she asked, only faintly aware that she was.

Vulcan glanced at the girl and sighed. "It's never happened between them."

"What about them and mortals?" She continued throw questions to him.

"Again never been done…for love." He replied remembering what happens when his Lord gets bored.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you when you're older."

Athenasia huffed and looked on as the lovers began to undress each other.

"This isn't for young eyes," Vulcan muttered, tugging on her sleeve.

He looked at her when she didn't answer. Her eyes were sad, yet tearless, her pale face was despondent, yet untwisted. She had never cried in her life, though she had a way of making her face looking sadder than any tears could do.

"Athenasia…"

"Yeah, let's go." She finally turned away, however just as she did, the couple by the river screamed.

She and Vulcan snapped their heads back to the mortals. They were looking at something across the river and before they could run, their limbs were ripped apart by an invisible force, leaving them only torsos and heads. Athenasia gasped at the sight, and Vulcan covered her mouth.

"Hush." He whispered, unsure of what had happened to them, though he had inkling.

A tall, slender figure strode across the water and looked at the barely alive mortals. The figure gripped the Nord by the neck and slowly squeezed his head off, bones breaking and flesh squelching. Athenasia watched the figure shift to the Altmer and do the same thing. A sudden spark of anger flared within her chest. She was angered by this figure that stopped these two lovers from having a romantic night. She struggled free from Vulcan's grip and glided down to the ground.

"My Lady!" he called after her and leapt down by her side.

"Hey!" she shouted at the figure. "Why did you kill them?!"

The figure slowly turned to face her and the Dremora. "Now, now, is that any way to talk to your beloved Aunt?"

The figure revealed herself to have a grey tinged body with deep green serpents slithering around her body.

"Aunty Boethiah?" Athenasia exclaimed. Slight fear spiralled in place of her anger. Her father had told her to keep away from Boethiah as she was dangerous and the only one out of her Aunts and Uncles to actually hurt her. She glanced at Vulcan for help.

"My Lady Boethiah," Vulcan stepped forward. "I was just about to take—"

"You will not address me, Dremora." Boethiah dismissed, her cold, violet eyes staring at Athenasia. "The girl can speak for herself."

"As you wish, my Lady." He bowed respectfully, though was alert to anything the Daedric Prince may try to harm his master's daughter.

"Now, precious niece," she smiled and she looked just like the snakes shifting queasily around her thin body, "tell me what you are doing here on Nirn and not in the safety of your father's castle? It's a dangerous place here, you know."

"I-I'm not afraid." The girl stammered. "Papa's teaching me Daedric magic and Vul…um…Dremora is teaching me melee combat."

Boethiah cackled loudly. "How can a half breed possibly be powerful enough to use our powers?"

That struck Athenasia hard. She was just as powerful as any Daedric Prince!

"I'm powerful!" She insisted. "Papa is the most powerful! And he's training me."

"Oh really?" Boethiah's face dropped into a look of disgust and hate. "Shall we test that then?" She summoned a blue flame to her hand and pointed it to the girl.

Athenasia stepped back a little, unsure is she should fight her. Vulcan stepped forward before she could act.

"My Lady Boethiah, that would be most unwise to attack my Lord Molag Bal's daughter."

"I told you _not_ to address me, Dremora!" Boethiah cast a blue flame spell towards him, sending him flying back into a tree, snapping the thick trunk.

"Vulcan!" Athenasia cried, running to where he landed heavily, though she was stopped by Boethiah's fire.

The girl turned to face the Prince, summoning orange flames to her hands. Her heart was pounding with fear, but she stood her ground. She had to learn to defend herself and not have her father or Vulcan doing it for her.

"L-Leave him alone!" Athenasia stood bravely against her powerful Daedric Aunt.

She shot searing, sun orange flames out her hands and they burst against Boethiah. Pride was suddenly devoured by fear as the fire cleared and her Aunt remained unscathed. Grinning evilly she raised her blue flamed hand and aimed at her niece again. Athenasia surrounded herself in a veil of her own fire to absorb her attacks. Boethiah chuckled mildly and sent a snake shaped bolt of her spell to Athenasia, suddenly transforming her orange protection into harmful blue spirals. She screamed in agony as the tongues of flames licked at her pale skin, causing parts of it to blister and burn horribly and painfully.

Just as the blazes were about to scorch her face they ceased as quickly as they began. Athenasia fell to her knees, cradling her left bicep where the worst of the burns were.

"I will not allow you to do any more damage to my Lady." Vulcan stood before her, back to her and facing his Daedric opponent.

Athenasia weakly raised her head and gazed up at the Dremora in full battle stance. Legs slightly apart, ready to brace for an attack; hands gripping his long, red and black Daedric blade which was pointed securely at Boethiah. Athenasia had never seen such a frightening expression on the Dremora. A blazing hot glare in his soulless black eyes, nostrils flaring, mouth thin and slightly curved down into a grimace. Blood trickled from his nose and ran down the side of his face and dripped off the edge of his sharp jaw.

Boethiah cackled loudly, fully amused that a simple Dremora servant was challenging her, however if he was afraid, he showed no hint. Not waiting for the Daedra to attack, Vulcan swung his greatsword to the right, sweeping it horizontally with his famous speed. Boethiah yelped in surprise as the blade lightly slashed her lower torso before she blurred back, with greater than or equal to his speed. Her eyes flared like a fierce lion that had been slapped in the face. Dark red blood slowly dripped from her wound. She glanced down at the damage and smiled, sliding a finger across it and licking her copper tasting liquid. Vulcan's eyes slightly widened in surprise as the wound healed itself.

"You'll have to better than that, Dremora." She spoke in an even tone, though it was low and aggressive.

All Athenasia could do was watch as Boethiah attacked her butler again and again with tremendous speed and agility, cuts, wounds and snake bites covered his pitch coloured skin. Where ever there was skin showing out of his armour, there was blood. His face was wet with the liquid which was mixed sweat. Poison from Boethiah's snakes swam in his veins, making him increasingly weaker, but he refused to give in. He would _not_ allow anything to happen to his Lady.

"Why won't you die?" Boethiah hissed, her anger growing more and more potent as Vulcan refused to give up.

"I…" but before the Dremora could continue he coughed hard, blood spurting out from his mouth. The poison was working efficiently and was beginning to shut down his organs.

Vulcan's vision blurred and he fell to one knee, quivering violently, blood gushing from his mouth and nose. Athenasia's heart stopped as she saw Boethiah raise her hand into the night air, summoning a spear—its blade head was a sapphire blue and glistened like the night sky; its grip was long and slender and the colour of shiny obsidian. Athenasia rose to her feet, forcing her pain back and began to sprint towards the blade, hoping to stop the thrust of the weapon towards her butler, though she was too late.


	4. Chapter 4 - Athenasia, Daedric Prince

Chapter 4 – Athenasia, Daedric Prince of Chaos

Time appeared to slow as Athenasia's burning amber eyes followed the spear head hurtling down onto Vulcan. Her voice screeched out, filling the air with the sound of anguish as the weapon buried itself into the Dremora's gut.

"Vulcan!" Athenasia's cry was drowned by Boethiah's menacing cackle.

The Daedra's violet eyes then snapped from the dying Dremora to her next foe. She ripped the spear from Vulcan ignoring his weak grunt of pain. The bravery drained from Athenasia like water in a basin. Her feet her rooted to the ground and she was frozen in fear. She wanted to shut her eyes, wishing Vulcan was there the hold her and tell her there was nothing to fear as she was the daughter of Molag Bal—nothing should be able to frighten her. Athenasia felt tears prick the back of her eyes which was a first for her and she felt pathetic and unworthy to be a Daedra.

"Oh how I've waited for this moment." Boethiah was revelling in the sight of her greatest rival's offspring cowering before her.

Quivering, Athenasia waited for the spear to penetrate her flesh. The wind was cold against her skin, however not a single leaf rustled. It suddenly came to her attention that the forest was deathly silent. And then, an unexpected burst of wind and blinding blue light appeared out of the air, sending Athenasia flying off her feet and landing heavily on her back. She snapped her eyes open, the water behind her lids falling down her pale cheeks.

The light resonated off the trees, illuminating them like ghostly guardians of the forest. The light disappeared as soon as it appeared, leaving behind…

"Father?" Athenasia was bewildered as the figure of Molag Bal loomed over her, his back, lined with jagged spikes, faced her.

His sharp, icy eyes were focuses furiously at Boethiah. In one hand he held his signature weapon, the Mace of Molag Bal. It glinted in the pale moonlight, the deep ebony contrasting the dark grey metal lining the edges of the points and edges. The mace faintly glowed with a hunter's green and ultramarine blue enchantment.

Athenasia flicked her eyes to Boethiah who was glaring dangerously at her father, enraged by the interference. She gripped her spear so tightly, her already pale knuckles turned whiter than snow; however, Athenasia thought she saw a hint of fear in the Daedra's eyes. For a few seconds too long the two great beings faced off, estimating the probability of a fight, adjusting their grasp on their weapons and correcting their footing, all the while never taking their vibrantly coloured eyes off each other.

And then, before Athenasia could blink, they were clashing weapons together. Their movements were so fast they blurred across the air and made Athenasia's eyes cross. They would pause only briefly to assess their next move before they went at each other again. Athenasia sat helplessly on the ground where she fell, watching in awe and fear the mighty battle before her. Her attention suddenly snapped to the figure lying silent on the ground a few feet away.

"Vulcan." She whispered and crawled over to her butler.

His eyes were lightly closed, red blood appeared black on his dark skin. His armour was cracked and smashed around his stomach, where a gaping hole stared back at her where the spear had pierced him. Athenasia's shaking hands lifted and felt gently on his morbid wound. Athenasia didn't know how to stop the bleeding. She knew nothing of healing spells, as her father didn't approve of 'weak' magic. All she could do for him was hold her hands firmly on his gut, the bloody spilling through her fingers, drenching them in dark red liquid. Even though she was about to be killed by Boethiah, that fear didn't compare to the terror and dread she felt at that moment. Her best friend lay dying beneath her and she was powerless to save him.

"Vulcan?" She murmured to him. "Please wake up."

Her hear skipped slightly as his eyes fluttered, cracking open. His pure black eyes vacantly stared at her. She was about to speak to him and reassure him that he was safe now that her father was here, but a loud cry rang out and she whipped her head around at the battle behind her. Boethiah had dropped her spear and was cradling the side of her face. Molag Bal raised his mace for a second hit but his enemy stumbled back before it could collide with her. She raised her head and glared menacingly at Molag before she snatched her spear and summoned a portal back to her realm.

Athenasia bit her lip before speaking.

"Father, we need to help—"

"You will not address me." He rumbled. "You've severely angered me with your weakness."

Athenasia lowered her gaze in shame. "F-forgive me, Father." She glanced at Vulcan, whose eyes were now closed again. "Please, Father. We need to help Vulcan."

Molag lifted his nose at her, not used to Dremoras having names. "The Dremora has shown even more weakness that you have. You will leave him here—"

"No Father please!" Athenasia pleaded. "Please! We can't leave him here!"

The air around the great Daedra seemed to shimmer as his rage rose. He lashed out towards his daughter and grasped her hair tightly and lifted her off the ground so she was level with his face. Athenasia cried out and gripped Molag's hand, her legs swinging beneath her.

His breath feather her face. "You will _not_ interrupt me!" he hissed. "You will _listen_ when I address you, do you hear me?"

"Y-yes, Father!" Athenasia squeaked, fighting back shameful tears. She dared not cry in front of her father. Especially not now.

He released her and let her drop to the ground heavily. She clasped a hand to her head where her hair had been pulled.

"You will leave the Dremora here to die." Molag Bal stared down at her. "He is no longer of any use to me. I will _not_ have any weakness in my realm." He paused. "That includes you. Disappoint me again, and you will regret it." He turned and opened a portal back to Coldharbour. "Oh how you will _regret it_." And he was gone from the mortal world.

-oOo-

Six years passed since Vulcan was disowned by Molag Bal. Athenasia grew harsher and more merciless. She now travelled to Nirn to create chaos and great misfortunes for mortals and a new taste for blood established in her diet—thanks to her mother's genes. She especially was more ruthless when she caught two lovers together. She wasn't sure why but the feeling of love angered her. Her power grew as much as her beauty. Her features were now fully formed and symmetrically perfect. Not a single flaw was blemished on her body. Her skin was as pale as mortal clouds, her eyes as orange as burning fire, now with a developed red ring around the outside of her iris.

Her power was immensely strong as well and was now recognised by the other Daedric Princes. Amongst the mortals, she was known as the new Daedric Prince of Chaos. She was able to use an invisible force that was sharp enough to pierce the toughest steels with an easy flick of her fingers. Her destructive magic revolved around fire as amber as her emotionless eyes and as hot as her unpitying personality. She even had her own Daedric artefact. ' _The Nightwalker's Pendent_ '. It allowed vampires to lose their fear of the sun and go out during the day, as well as keeping a portion of blood inside the pendant.

However, ever since that day, Molag Bal has banished all Dremora from his realm and refused to take any more from Sanguine or any other Prince. Athenasia grew increasingly more distant from her father too. And to spite him—although it was also because of her helplessness that day—she took it upon herself to learn healing magic in secret.

It was a usual Coldharbour night when Athenasia walked into her quarters, a large room which was inherently black and grey. Her bed—crafted from ebony, raven feathers, black bear furs and iron was atop of a short staircase made from obsidian. A dresser constructed from the same substance stood at one end of the room with a large oval shaped mirror joined on the surface with a short stool sitting in front of the furniture. Bookcases lined a corner of the room with books and other items she collected from the realm and Tamriel occupying the shelves.

Athenasia strode to the far left corner of her chambers, her long black swan feathered dress with a high collar and long sleeves trailing behind her. Her wings her retracted into her back as she learned to do over the years, as they were immensely large and got in the way easily. Her horns were adorned with crystals and opals that shone like a noble crown.

As she reached the end of the room, she pressed against a piece of wall and waited impatiently as part of the wall shifted and revealed a secret room where she could study healing magic without the fear of being caught by her father. Closing the secret door behind her she magically lit a brazier which illuminated the small room with a bright blue light. Athenasia fingered the spines of the books resting on a short bookcase situated next to a desk. She lifted a large tome and placed it carefully on the desk and began to flick through the pages. Her fingers stopped at a page that depicted a man on a table with healers around him. The healers had their hands up in the air in a worshiping stance. Above their heads were a strange symbol which looked like a triangle with several dots on the outside and inside of it. Connecting the dots was a faint green line.

The young Daedra looked down at the palm of her hand and used a sharp talon-like nail to cut a small wound into it. Red blood bulged out and ran down her hand, dripping off the edge. For a second too long, she stared at her own blood, the familiar thirst within her growing. She breathed out slowly and took a sip of blood from her pendent before focusing back on the text. She raised her other hand into the air and followed the direction of the green line on the symbol, summoning the magic within her to light the path. She looked down at her palm and the wound slowly healed, however left a soft pink scar.

"Must not have done it right." She muttered to herself, annoyed.

She licked her blood off her hand and raised her nail to try again when she heard a soft knock on the secret door. She froze and slowly turned her head to the door. It was still closed and almost impossible to see from the outside. She feared her father was on the other side. She sat as still as the gargoyle statues that guarded the castle. The knock came again and then a voice.

"Are you in there… _my lady_?"

 **Sorry for the long wait! You know how year 12 can be xD anyway please comment what Daedric Prince you would like to see in this story! Thanks! Peace!**


	5. Chapter 5 - Rage, Rage, Rage

Chapter 5 – Rage, Rage, Rage

That voice. That deep rumble. It was unmistakable. Athenasia's glowing eyes widened and her body stiffened. _My lady_. Those words uttered to her so often. The words that would irritate her six years ago, washed over her mind again and again. She wasn't sure whether she should answer. Slowly, she raised her quivering hand to the latch that opened the secret door from the inside. It shifted painfully slowly to the right.

Athenasia felt her legs grow weak. Her vampiric heart seemed to fail as she rested her soft hand on her chest. She knew what to say, but couldn't function her voice.

Standing before her small and petite figure was he. He who had supposedly _died_ years before. Posing in the same stance he always did when around her. Feet pointing in a 'V' position; hands neatly behind his back; head slightly raised; eyes…eyes watching her. Always watching her.

His nosed twitched ever so slightly. "My Lady." He repeated.

"Vul…" Athenasia could barely say his name.

"My have you grown." His usual casual tone and slight smirk rang through her ears.

A sudden spark of anger flickered within her. Without thinking, she struck him hard across his face, which only increased his grin.

"Where have you _been_?" She hissed, shoving him back a few times. "Do you know what I'd gone through that night? What I had to put up with? And now you just decide to show up at my door, and all you say is _my have you grown_?"

The Dremora's abyssal eyes appeared to soften. He raised his arms to Athenasia's shoulders and stared deeply into her orange orbs.

"Forgive me."

The Daedra's shaking slowed and she clenched her teeth together and flung her arms around her estranged butler's neck.

"I missed you so much." She whimpered. "Why didn't you come back? What took you so long?"

Vulcan hesitantly laid a hand on her back. "Your father was correct about me…and you." He paused. "We were weak. I was weak. To show my face here would…not have fared well with him. He was merciful enough to allow you back here. However…if I were to…" He cleared his throat and gently pushed Athenasia back. "I assume your father has banished Dremora?"

She nodded her head slightly.

"I thought as much." Vulcan shamefully turned his gaze downwards. "I have set out the expectation to all Dremora in his eyes. Because of my weakness, we were all ridiculed. The fault is mine."

"So why return now?" Athenasia's nose turned the slightest bit pink.

Vulcan turned and paced the room a bit. "Part of me wanted to leave you here and let you forget me. I wanted you to have nothing to do with me anymore, for if I could not protect you, then hopefully one stronger than me may." He held up his hand to stop her from interrupting. "Then there was the other part of me." He strode back to stand in front of his lady, her eyes glimmering wet. "The other part of me that wanted to see that you were safe. I…needed to see for myself. I managed to stay my fears for a time, although they rose to the surface eventually. I had to see you again."

Athenasia shook her head in disbelief. "I thought you were dead."

"So did I." Vulcan smoothed a section of her hair, watching his hand. "But the two fighting sides within me kept me going."

She glanced at her quarters door. "You know what Molag will do if he catches you in his realm."

"Fear not, my lady." Vulcan twitched the corners of his mouth up. "Now that I know you are fine and strong, I have no reason to linger."

He flicked his hand and opened a portal back to Nirn. Athenasia almost choked. She was at his side in a flash and griped his hand tightly.

"No! Please don't leave." She cried.

The ebony faced Dremora quizzically stared at her, his head coked to one side, his eyebrows knotted together.

"You want me to stay here?"

"I-I…" Deep down within her, the Daedra knew he would never be safe here for him and Molag Bal would never allow him to stay either. But her heart ached. She'd known Vulcan for so long. And now that he was back, she couldn't let him slip through her fingers again. She rested her head on his black and glowing red armoured arm. "I can't let you just leave."

Mixed emotions shimmered throughout Vulcan. Staying here would not only mean putting his life in danger, but hers as well.

"Athenasia…" His voice was low, yet soft. "We—'

His voice was drowned out by the sound of crashing thunder and flashing lightning. Athenasia drew a sharp breath in and stalked to her window, peering up at the sky. Dark blue clouds covered the entirety of Coldharbour as far as she could see. Flashes of white lights dotted and blended with them, while occasional lightning strikes would illuminate the region.

The skies only grew unsettled like this when a certain lord was enraged. Athenasia shrank away from the window, heart rate increasing, breathing increasing, fear increasing. She whipped around to stare at Vulcan, whose face was calm, yet eyes were somewhat saddened.

"I fear I've overstayed my welcome." He whispered.

The Daedra's eyebrows crunched together, a billion thoughts racing through her head.

"Leave then." She replied. "He will come for you."

Vulcan let out a short sigh and shook his head, closing the portal and placing his arms behind his back once more.

"I'm afraid running will end in the same result as staying."

They turned to the door as giant, loud, booming footsteps approached. They stopped just outside, letting a short moment tick by. Then, without warning, the heavy door flew across the room, crashing and shattering the window on the other side and falling down to the outside ground beneath. A dangerous, nightmarish growl resonated through the air. Athenasia couldn't contain her fear, though she forced her feet to stand in front of the Dremora, protective.

The sharp, piercing eyes of her father bored into her soulless husk. His teeth were bared, upper lip snarled back to his nose. His long, taloned fingers were tensed and cutting into his own palms. Molag Bal's blazing eyes seemed to shake with pure fury as they focused on the Dremora, who dared not meet his gaze.

The Daedra Lord didn't even have words to speak. The air around him reflected his rage and shimmered. A low, but loud growl escaped his throat, mouth opening slightly which caused the rumble to mould into a threatening hiss much like a cornered snake. He raised his mighty right hand and summoned his signature artefact. The Mace of Molag Bal.

It's shining steel coloured ebony edges glinted in the flashes of lightning illuminating the room from outside. A forest green light swirled and swam like eels through water around the entirety of the mace. A vampiric skull adorned the centre of the weapon, two glowing, red hot lights lit up the skull's eyes, giving a perfect match to its wielder's wrath.

Molag raised the mace with wicked speed and slashed down towards his victim. But this time, Athenasia was ready. She was older, wiser, and faster. Her speed matched her father's as she blurred in front of Vulcan, whilst summoning a powerful restoration ward that deflected the attack. The atmosphere seemed to freeze in time. A sense of surprise fell upon the Lord and the Dremora. Athenasia's spell faded and raised her head to glare defiantly through Molag's.

Molag Bal couldn't contain his anger. He screeched deafeningly and swung the mace around; smashing whatever fell in its way. Athenasia pushed Vulcan back towards the window, each time dodging the attacks. The Daedra Lord's weapon flailed mercilessly until the backs of his daughter and traitorous 'butler' were pressed against the wall. Molag's tail whipped behind him, reflecting his fury.

"Athenasia…" Vulcan's voice was soft and accepting. "You cannot defy your father. You should not…"

"No." She shook her head vigorously, while keeping her eyes on the Lord. "I will protect you this time."

Molag's growl became a shout and he impatiently thrust his mace towards her and as she dodged, turned his attention to Vulcan. He swung once, the blades colliding with the dremora's side. He went flying to the other side of the room, crashing into the wall and sinking down to the floor. He grunted in pain, clenching his teeth, desperately trying not to reveal any more weakness to his former master. Molag lifted the mace, readying for the final blow, when Athenasia shot an arrow from a flaming bound bow spell. It pierced the back of his calf, causing him to grunt more with annoyance rather than with pain. He twisted his head around to glower at her, by that time, she had readied another arrow and shot at his face, but was stopped by his own hand. He glanced at the arrow, sticking out of his palm and clenched a fist, expiring the spell.

The Daedra girl summoned a flaming bound sword and blurred to his side, slashing his leg. Molag attempted to grab her but to no prevail. She gripped Vulcan by the arm and dragged him to the window before Molag could figure out what she was doing.

"My lady…"

"Hush, Vulcan and trust me for once." She replied and she leapt from the window, still clutching the Dremora.

They cascaded from the tower towards the black ground. Athenasia's wings burst from her back, yanking them up again. She thrust them once, twice and gained height. With a quick glance behind her, she flew as fast as possible away from the only home she'd ever known.


	6. Chapter 6 - Is She Hope?

Chapter 6 – Is She Hope?

The thunder intensified, booming deafeningly across the realm. Lightning whipped across the abyssal coloured skies and shone brighter and _angrier_ than the twin moons of Nirn.

Athenasia refused to look back, refused to gaze upon the giant castle. She knew that life was over. Forever. Clutching Vulcan tightly she pounded her wings hard and sailed through the soaked air, steadying herself against the gale force winds.

"Athenasia!" Vulcan shouted over the roar of the storm. "Drop me and turn back! You can't—"

"Hush Vulcan," she replied, her eyes peeled on her path before her, "it's too late for that. I've made my decision. I know that, you know that and my father definitely knows that."

Vulcan stared at the young Daedra. Even after all these years, she still managed to surprise him. He dripped his injured arm tightly and pressed his lips together, slowly accepting her decision.

Cracks of lightning burst from the sky inching ever closer to her and the Dremora. She did her best to swerve out of harm's way, though light seemed to travel quicker than her. A long flash of white light spiralled upon her, crashing atop her right wing. Almost losing her grip of Vulcan she tumbled downwards. Desperate, she flapped as hard as her body would allow, trying to gain altitude to avoid tumbling the stone-like ground.

Athenasia clenched her teeth together, fighting through the pain, however it was to no avail; the lightning had ripped a fissure through her the leathery part of her wing. No matter how hard she strained, she could feel gravity pull them down to its embrace. She glanced down at Vulcan who was staring back at her. Planting a sweet, soft kiss on his forehead, she folded her great wings around them both and held him protectively to her.

"I won't lose you again." Was the last words she whispered before colliding harshly with Coldharbour's icy, dead surface.

-oOo-

Vulcan shuddered awake. The rain was still pelting down severely; his pitch black hair was drenched and clung to his face and the back of his neck. The droplets slid off his glowing red armour, such as a waterfall. His right arm was stiff and ached violently. He grunted, forcing the pain down as best he could. He rolled over and pushed himself into the lazy sitting position. His vision would blur slightly when he shifted his head.

The grinding movement of gravel caught his attention suddenly. He stumbled to his feet, steadying his faulty balance. Waves of light-headedness and fatigue rolled over him; he wanted nothing more than to fall back down and close his eyes, but they lay on a small mound. Cautiously he moved towards it, his eyes widening and his bright red heart pounding furiously. He attempted to run to the motionless figure of Athenasia, although his consciousness threatened to overwhelm him. Her back was facing him and her wings were sprawled out around her. Staggering to a painfully slow pace to keep himself awake he made his way to her, dropping to his knees once she was only a few feet away. He crawled the rest of the way, ripping his Daedric gauntlets off and tossing them to one side.

"My Lady?" he cooed softly. When she didn't respond, he gently laid his hands on her limp form.

His deep black eyes adjusted to the darkness as well as the pouring rain soaking his face. Upon closer inspection, he saw that her once mighty and magnificent wings lay almost lifeless-like; battered, torn and broken. Bones protruded from the thin membranes and large, deep bruises and swelling blotched around them, drenched in rainwater and vampiric blood. The red liquid oozed steadily from her; slowly taking her soul with it. He shook her slightly, panic rising within him.

"My Lady?" he whispered again, resting a dark hand on her fair face. He took a moment to admire the beauty in the contrast, before reaching for his glowing red and ebony coloured sword. "Forgive me." He uttered gruffly before casting it down towards her.

The immensely sharp blade slashed through the joints where her wings met his shoulder blades with swift and silent ease. The broken limbs lay completely lifeless and painfully still beside Athenasia. He sheathed his weapon, shame rolling through his mind.

"I'm sorry, my Lady. I don't know what else I could've done to…" He let out a long breath.

Placing a hand on her chest he felt her heartbeat. It was slow and very, very faint; but it was there. He slid his hand to cup the side of her face. Her expression was so…peaceful. Eyelids closed gently, long, dark lashes curled above her cheeks, which were the slightest bit flushed. Her full, tinted pink-red lips were parted exposing the white of her front teeth. Her jaw was perfectly angled, joining her swan-like neck. Her raven hair was soaked and stuck determined to the sides of her face. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth, mixing with the clear water, making it run down one half of her face.

She was truly beautiful. More suited to being a majestic Aedra…in looks only. Vulcan dragged his eyes from her face to her newly cropped wings. Raising his hands, he summoned his power from within, concentrating intensely. His palms warmed and a slow, steady flow of flames ejected onto the wounds on her shoulders, sterilising them. The open gashes covered in black char, the bleeding ceasing.

"You've always given me trouble." He muttered gently and somewhat affectionately.

Vulcan slid his right arm under her legs, doing his best to ignore the pain while he cradled her back with his left arm. Forcing himself to stand, he carried her bridal style and assessed his environment. He usually knew his surroundings, he had been nearly all over Coldharbour; but the heavy rain disorientated him and he felt lost. He was afraid of what Molag Bal would do to them if he found them—although his real concern was for Athenasia. She had left behind a comfortable life for him. He shut his eyes, letting out an extended sigh. It was his fault. He never should have returned. He should have left her to live and forget he ever existed.

But he…couldn't. The part of him that warned him against this plan was overruled by the desire to see her again. He could never understand what made him want to, all that he knew was she gave his life some sort of purpose. For a Dremora, they do nothing but serve their lords and ladies. But she…she was different. He felt a tug of connection between them. Seeing her everyday made it all worthwhile, and when Molag and Athenasia left him on Nirn it was the first time he felt…useless. Alone. Insignificant.

His eyelids slowly opened and he raised his head to the black, angry sky. He shook his head, droplets of water sprayed from his hair. He was going to save her. He was _not_ going to fail again. He was not going to fail _her_ again. Gripping her close to his body he stumbled aimlessly through the pelting rain and the roar of the storm in search for a refuge somewhere. A cave, a ruin, _anything_. Even though his demonic eyes could see expertly well, the rain cancelled out any hope of his enhanced sight. He trudged on, speaking softly to Athenasia's limp body, assuring her she'd be safe with him. He knew she was unconscious and barely alive, though he talked on.

What felt like hours passed by. Vulcan's legs were stiff and cold, his right arm had nearly completely gone numb and his words became shaky and unsteady. His feet dragged across the iron hard ground and his eyes were drooped with fatigue. His breathing quickened and his head began to spin again. But still, he held Athenasia tightly, refusing to give up on her.

The beating of the rain against his ebony skin began to lose its feeling. He was still faintly aware that it was storming hard, but his ears would no longer listen. Time appeared to slow and all he could hear was his heartbeat and his breathing. He blinked lazily and he suddenly appeared to be on the ground. A sharp pain split through one side of his head but he was too tired to take any notice to it. He turned his head slightly to see Athenasia's sleeping face right in front of his. She was so peaceful. So beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to take her away from this now dangerous place and protect her forever. He lifted a shaky hand to her face and rubbed some of the rain away from her cheek with his thumb. He was slipping from his own consciousness. He desperately tried to keep his eyes open, but to no avail.

The last thing he saw was an immensely bright white light standing over the two of them. A figure. Of who, he had now idea. The figure leaned down, a white, glowing hand reaching for them. He attempted to meet the hand with his own, but it fell onto Athenasia's neck with a faint thud.


End file.
